


The many secrets of the universe

by riggetyricked



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aphrodisiacs, C137cest, Child Abuse, Drugs, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends With Benefits, Heart Attack, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Riding, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21835249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riggetyricked/pseuds/riggetyricked
Summary: Rick is getting old.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 6
Kudos: 164





	The many secrets of the universe

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Rick and Morty fuck in this. I wouldn't say they're in a relationship. Or even like each other like that. My thoughts are Rick is a fucked up person who groomed Morty into liking it... Buuuuut idk. You can probably see some repressed feelings in it if you try. It's just really fucked up. Also, trigger warnings for (very vague) mentions of past dubious consent, hospitals, and a heart attack.
> 
> Sorry if there's still mistakes in this. I tried to proofread but I'm sick and working with half my brainpower. Feel free to tell me if you see grammar errors!

It first happens on a Saturday afternoon.

Rick and Morty are in the garage, and as per usual Rick is cussing Morty out for something or other. Morty is only half listening, sneaking glances at his phone to see if he’s gotten any texts from Jessica yet--she said she would get back to him about going to homecoming together, after all--when suddenly Rick goes silent, and Morty looks up.

“W-what are y-”

But Morty doesn’t finish his sentence, because there is something _wrong_ with Rick. His breathing is coming fast, faster than it does even when they’re running for their lives from some monstrous alien or other, and he’s clutching the working bench so hard that his knuckles are turning white.

“Rick?” Morty asks, voice wavering.

He expects Rick to turn to him at that, to laugh at him for his worry and then launch right back into calling Morty a piece of shit, but he does neither of those things.

Instead, Rick reaches sideways. He tries to grab the stool he likes to sit on but knocks it over as he goes crashing to the ground.

*

Morty glances at his grandfather, who is sitting in the driver’s seat of the ship and is sipping from his flask.

He looks normal: bored at the tail-end of an underwhelming adventure and slightly drunk, but Morty can’t get the image of Rick crashing to the floor out of his mind.

It’s been a week, and Rick hasn’t said anything about it.

“Oh-” Rick burps. “Okay, Morty, that’s enough s-st-sta- Just stop looking at me.”

Morty quickly turns away, looking through the passenger-window at the vast expanse of space. There was a time he begged Rick to take him out here. Now it’s akin to being stuck in traffic.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“What’ve you got yOOUGHHr panties in a twist about?” Rick asks. “You’ve b-been weird all day.”

“It’s nothin’,” Morty lies, looking at Rick again. “I’m just ready to get h-h-home.”

“Yeah, tOOOGHHday sUUUGHcked,” Rick says agreeably, spit flying from his mouth as he burps. Morty crinkles his nose in disgust but doesn’t say anything. Rick’s a little more than ‘slightly drunk’, he supposes. At least he’s putting his flask away, now. “W-when we get home we’ll watch some- some Ball Fondlers, Morty. That’ll- that’ll be fun! Huh, buddy?”

“Yeah, sure,” Morty says.

Suddenly, Rick breaks and puts the ship in park, turning fully to Morty to look him up and down.

“S-seriously. WhAAGHHHt’s up with you?” Rick asks again. “You l- you love Ball Fondlers.”

“What happened l-l-last week, Rick?” Morty asks. “When you, um, you f-fell?”

“Baby, c’mere.”

Something changes in Rick’s demeanor then, and Morty sighs as he climbs over the gear-shift and into Rick’s lap.

This is something they do more-than-occasionally, usually when Rick is drunk, and Morty knows better than to refuse by now.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t recognize when Rick is using sex to distract him.

“I d-d-” Rick hiccups. “I don’t want you to worry, m-MOOGHHrty,” he says, and begins pressing kisses to Morty’s neck. Lips half-pressed there, he adds: “Grandpa’s _juuuuuuust_ fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Morty says, eyebrows knitting together as he grinds down against Rick’s bulge a little.

Morty’s always been easy to rile up, and his neck’s a sweet spot.

Rick’s cold hands splay on the skin of Morty’s sides, pushing up underneath his shirt, and Morty shivers.

“You like that, baby?” Rick asks, softly, and Morty nods despite the inner conflict that comes--or _should_ come--with this particular question every time.

Rick pulls Morty’s shirt up and over his head, Morty lifting his arms to help, and leans forward to take one of Morty’s nipples into his mouth.

Morty moans at the soft bite, and despite himself, he can feel the worry retreat to the back of his mind, replaced by the stirrings of lust in his belly.

Morty can remember a time when he’d try to fight this; a time when he didn’t want it.

These days, he doesn’t know what he wants.

He’s trembling, and it’s just as much from the appreciation of those quick, thin-fingered hands gripping his hips as it is from disgust.

But is it really disgust if he only feels it out of habit?

“D-do you want t-to, baby?” Rick asks, and that, just that simple question, brings the worry right back.

Rick never _asks_ , he _takes_.

“What-”

But Rick must know what he’s going to ask because the press of thin, drool-wet lips against his own cut Morty off.

Despite himself, he sinks into it, and can only make the aborted noise of a question as Rick’s hands unzip his jeans, one of them reaching inside to stroke his cock over the material of his boxers.

“N-nOOGHHt right now, m-Morty,” Rick says.

It’s not a ‘never’, so Morty accepts it.

The next few minutes are spent on preparing Morty. It’s been a while since they’ve done this. The last time was a quick, desperate ‘holy-shit-we’re-alive’ fuck after they almost got killed in the Snarfian dimension three weeks ago.

Rick always has lube on him; a habit or a recent development? Morty has no clue. In any case, his grandpa doesn’t mind taking his time on stuff like this despite his impatient nature, and he’s grateful for it.

After a while, Morty keens at the fingers purposefully avoiding his prostate. He’s been rocking back against them for a good three minutes now, feeling full but not invaded, needing more.

He catches Rick’s eyes and whispers a quick “I’m ready”.

Rick nods, slowly pulling his fingers out.

Morty clenches around nothing and pants, hiding his face against Rick’s neck as the man reaches down to undo the button of his trousers. 

How they always end up like this, with Morty fully naked and Rick fully dressed, is one of the many secrets of the universe.

Rick pulls out his impressive length and gives it a few good pumps, then pulls Morty closer as he presses the tip of his dick against Morty’s hole.

But it’s Morty who begins to sink down, Morty who moans impatiently when he can’t bottom out all the way on the first try and lifts himself a little to try again.

“Jesus, Morty,” Rick says, strained. “Y-you- Fuck.”

“Shuddup,” Morty says back.

They get into a rhythm: Morty lifting himself and dropping down, Rick thrusting up and going a little deeper each time.

 _I like this,_ Morty thinks. _Why do I like this?_

“Ah! r-Rick!” Morty exclaims when finally, _finally_ , he is stretched out enough for Rick’s thick cock to hit _that spot._

He’s seeing stars, or more accurately he’s _feeling_ them. His entire body is shaking. Already, he’s embarrassingly close.

Rick says nothing. When he isn’t dirty-talking, he’s usually quiet during sex. The only noises that come out of him are a few pants and restrained grunts.

His eyes are pressed closed, jaw clenched, the muscles of his shoulders flexing visibly even underneath his lab coat.

The ship is filled with the slapping of skin on skin, the noises escaping Morty’s mouth, and the creaking of the old chair.

Rick opens his eyes and reaches for Morty’s cock, stroking him in time with their thrusting, and Morty feels the build.

“I-” he says. “ _Ooooh_ , I-”

“Shhh, Morty,” Rick shushes gently. “Doing s-so well for me, baby bOOGHHy. You gonna c-cum?”

“Close,” Morty says, then grabs Rick’s shoulders as he lifts and drops himself quicker, his legs aching with the effort. He needs to cum- he _needs_ to-

He freezes when Rick groans.

For a moment, he thinks he’s imagined the tone of it but then he dismisses that thought. Rick’s not moving anymore and his eyes are pressed tightly closed again.

And that look on his face? That’s not pleasure, that is _pain_.

“R-Rick?” Morty asks.

Rick has let go of Morty’s cock by now, but the grip his other hand still has on Morty’s hip is bruisingly tight.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the muscles in Rick’s face relax and he opens his eyes.

“What just happened?” Morty asks.

Rick doesn’t seem to know how to answer.

“Rick!”

“I-It’s nothing, Morty. DrOOGHHp it,” Rick says. “Y-you still wanna get off?”

But Morty has gone soft. He shakes his head, pulls away from and off of Rick, and climbs back into the passenger seat.

Rick doesn’t stop it. He doesn’t seem to care at all.

Morty gets dressed and Rick puts his cock away, and they’re both quiet on the remaining way home.

*

Jessica already has a date for homecoming, so Morty stays home.

He’s not in a particularly great mood so when Rick stumbles into his bedroom at two am, clearly not just drunk but also high on whatever alien drugs make your eyes shine green like that, he simply rolls his eyes.

“W-what’dya want, Rick?”

It’s been four weeks without incident, so Morty isn’t particularly worried anymore. Rick’s probably already fixed whatever was going on with him. He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

He’s also perfectly capable of keeping Morty from getting a good night’s rest.

Rick stumbles and falls, half onto the bed and half next to it. His head ends up on Morty’s legs, near his groin, and Morty makes a noise of disgust as Rick begins to lick his bedsheets. Not only is he licking the wrong place, but it’s also _gross_. Morty can’t feel anything anyway and even if he could, that’s _not_ how you lick when you’re trying to give someone a blowjob.

“Rick,” he says, and Rick looks up at him. “Y-you’re really d-d-drunk.”

“Hmm,” Rick hums in agreement, climbing fully onto the bed.

“Just g-go to sleep,” Morty tries.

“No. Need you,” Rick says. He pulls the sheets off Morty’s body, and the bare skin of Morty’s chest immediately prickles into goosebumps.

Morty’s taken to sleeping in his boxers, and Rick clearly appreciates it.

“F-fine, lay down then,” Morty says, and in Rick’s inebriated state it’s not very hard to force him to do so. His body seems tired, weakened by alcohol, but his eyes are bright and full of attention. They follow Morty’s every movement as he climbs on top of him and straddles his hips. “Y-you always do this, I s-swear.”

“S-sh-shUUGHHt up and ride m-me, bitch.”

“I’m w-working on it! Jesus.”

Morty pulls down his boxers and takes them off in a complicated movement that makes him regret not taking them off before climbing on top of Rick. Rick must have already been jerking off because his cock has been pulled out of his pants, hard and proud and looking painfully red, covered in lube and precum.

They fucked just this afternoon while mom, dad and Summer were out. Morty had been bent over the kitchen table, looking worriedly through the big sliding door windows into the backyard, thinking that any moment now somebody could come through the gates and catch them in the act.

Rick had been tipsy, but not so drunk that he hadn’t known what he was doing. 

Morty knows he gets off on danger.

In any case, he’s still more than open enough to take Rick in with ease. Morty grabs Rick’s cock and positions it just right, then sinks down.

The old man moans, a testament to his state of mind.

“Fuck, baby,” Rick says, and Morty hadn’t realized how quiet they were being until Rick’s loud voice echoes through the room like a gunshot.

“Shhh, mom and dad’ll hear you.”

Rick nods, but he doesn’t _really_ seem to care.

 _Stupid. Old. Reckless. Scientist_ , Morty thinks as he begins to lift and drop.

Rick’s much more vocal than usual, and Morty can’t deny that the sound of his grunts and soft moans turn him on. Much quicker than usual, he’s nearing his peak, sweat dripping from his body as he strains not to cum.

“W-what’d you take?” he asks, trying to distract himself.

“Karlax,” Rick says. His eyes are pressed closed, and immediately after the word, he moans again.

“You mean K-lax?”

“n-NOOOGH. Karlax. It’s an- fuck. Ah- _Ahhhh_ \- an aphrodisiac, Morty.”

“W-what’s that?” Morty asks.

Holy shit. He’s _so close_.

“A s- _oohhh_ -”

Suddenly, and completely without warning, Rick cums. Morty follows close behind him, tensing up as he empties himself over Rick’s belly, completely dirtying his blue sweater.

Rick doesn’t seem to mind. He’s still cumming, filling up Morty’s ass until his semen begins to drip out, and then some more. He clutches the mattress cover, and clutches it, and _clutches it_.

He’s done by now. Morty is sure of it. But Rick’s knuckles are turning white and his eyebrows are drawn together, and his jaw is pressed so tight that Morty thinks it’s gonna pop.

“Rick?” he asks. “Rick?!”

Rick begins to convulse, and Morty falls back, scrambling away.

“Help!” he yells. “Somebody help!”

*

Morty hasn’t been in an earth hospital since he was little.

He doesn’t like it. It feels too sterile, like a place where you go to die, not a place you go to get better.

He taps his foot impatiently against the floor.

Rick’s in surgery, and has been for the past three hours. During that time, nobody has said anything to Morty.

Beth and Jerry went off to ‘get coffee’ an hour ago and haven’t come back. Morty’s pretty sure they’re actually having a screaming match in the parking lot.

Summer is very carefully _not_ staring at Morty.

And okay, fine, so they all walked in on what was clearly the aftermath of Morty fucking his grandfather. But in the grand scheme of things, don’t they all have more important things to worry about right now?

It’s not like it’s even that bad. There are planets where fucking someone who _isn’t_ a family member is considered wrong.

_Wow. When did I start to think like this?_

A doctor walks through the double doors, and Morty stands up when she heads towards them. She looks between Summer, who also stands up, and Morty, and then asks: “Are your parents still here?”

“Not right now, but I’m eighteen,” Summer says. “Just tell us about grandpa Rick.”

“Your grandfather has suffered a heart attack coupled with a bad reaction to some kind of drug,” the doctor says after a moment of consideration, speaking mostly to Summer. “We gave him emergency bypass surgery. He’s currently stable and should be fine, but we’d like to start him on medication as soon as possible. Do either of you know what he took tonight?”

“Is it v-very important to know?” Morty asks uncertainly.

“It will determine whether we can start him on medication immediately or not and whether more action should be taken to flush the drug out of his system,” the doctor says. “Look, frankly I don’t care if whatever he took was illegal. Don’t worry about that. You’re here to make sure he doesn’t die, right?”

“I-it’s not-” Morty begins. “It’s just…”

“Grandpa’s a scientist,” Summer says. “He takes a lot of shit most people have never even heard of. Including doctors.” She adds this last part when the doctor seems to want to interject.

"He called it k-Karlax," Morty adds.

“I see... Well, any idea what kind of drug that is, at least? Something like cocaïne? Maybe heroïne?”

“N-n-nothing like that, I think,” Morty says. “He said it was an a-aph- an aph-”

“Aphrodisiac?” Summer asks.

“Yeah, that.”

“Jesus,” Summer says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Thank you, mister Smith,” the doctor says. “You two can come and see your grandfather now if you like. He should wake up soon.”

Morty is already nodding, but Summer grabs his arm.

“We will in a minute,” she says. “I need to talk to my brother.”

_Oh boy._

The doctor simply nods and heads back through the doors.

Morty slowly turns to face the only person besides Rick who’s judgment he actually cares about.

“W-we should r-really go see Rick, you know,” he says, avoiding her gaze. "He could've- he could have d-died."

“Did grandpa Rick rape you?” Summer asks, blunt as always.

“What? No!”

“I’m just saying, Morty. It looks bad. He was drunk and high off his ass of whatever shit he likes to bring into the house, and he was in your bed with his dick hanging out! Not to mention you were _naked_ -”

“He d-didn’t rape me,” Morty interrupts, conscious of the fact that they’re having this conversation in a very public place. “I d-don’t mind having s-sex with him, honestly.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Um. T-two years.”

“ _Two years_?” Summer says incredulously.

Morty tears up in shame, still not daring to meet his sister’s eyes.

“Morty! Don’t you see how fucking bad this is? You were _fourteen_! Even if _you_ were the one to start it, which I don’t believe for a second, he should have said no! He shouldv’e-”

“Can you shut up?!” Morty shouts, and then closes his mouth, surprised by his own outburst.

“Excuse me?”

Quietly, Morty says: “I l-like it, okay? It’s not… not like y-you think or anything.”

“I _think_ you’ve been brainwashed.” Summer crosses her arms.

“Y-you’re wrong,” Morty says.

Finally, he looks at his sister, and they stare at each other for a long, long moment. Then, Summer throws her head back and groans.

“Great. Then I guess I have to go and wipe mom and dad’s memories now, huh? Since Rick isn’t in any shape to do it.”

“W-wha-”

“Don’t talk to me,” Summer says. “Just… Give me some time to get used to this, Morty.”

She walks, or rather stomps off.

Morty looks after her, not sure what to think about any of what just went down.

_Is Summer... accepting this? And 'wipe mom and dad’s memories’? What does that even mean?_

*

What it means is that three days later when they’re bringing Rick home, nobody mentions how they found Rick and Morty at all.

Morty can almost believe that nobody remembers what happened, but the knowing glances Summer sends his way tell him otherwise.

Morty ignores them.

“I’m going to the garage,” Rick says when they get home, shaking off Beth’s helping hand.

Morty follows close behind Rick, ready to catch him if he falls or something. That, predictably, doesn’t happen. Rick seems fine to walk. And once he sits down it’s like things haven’t changed at all.

Like the last couple of days just… didn’t happen.

“Rick…” Morty asks. “You’re gonna be… o-okay, right?”

“Yes, Morty! Jesus. I’m old. It’s whatever.”

Rick’s not looking at Morty, digging through drawers until he finds what he’s looking for, which happens to be a bottle of vodka. To his credit, he hasn’t seemed like he’s had any kind of withdrawal at all so far.

Still, when he takes a sip straight from the bottle, something about the stance of his upper body relaxes.

“T-the doctor said you s-shouldn’t drink anymore…”

“The doctor can suck my dick,” Rick says harshly. “And you can too if you think I’m g-gonna listen to that bitch.”

“The last time we d-did anything involving your dick you had a heart attack, s-so no thanks,” Morty attempts to joke.

“Shut the fuck up, Morty.”

Morty presses his lips together, glaring at Rick’s back.

Why has Rick gotta be like this? Morty’s just worried! Worried, and _scared_.

He knows Rick is old, but he’s never _seemed_ old before. Not until three days ago, at least.

“What’re you still doing here, dipshit?” Rick asks. He sounds angry, but the fight is gone from his voice. “Grandpa w-wants to be alone.”

Without a thought, Morty walks up to Rick and wraps his arms around his shoulders to hug him from behind.

They don’t usually hug. They’ve shared two hugs in total before this: once when Morty almost got raped in that weird pub in fantasy-land, and once the first time they almost died on an adventure, after Morty screamed at Rick that he never wanted to go on one again.

Both times seem like ages ago now, and this hug isn’t like those ones at all.

It’s always been Rick comforting Morty before this. The other way around has never been necessary.

Rick tenses up, then relaxes, shoulders dropping.

“Morty…”

“Rick,” Morty says. “Just l-let me fucking hug you, okay?”

Slowly, Rick nods and brings up a hand to put on Morty’s own.

And if Morty feels a drop of water fall onto his wrist, and if he feels Rick’s shoulders shake a little…

Well, nobody needs to know but them.


End file.
